I am speaking now of more than thirty years ago.
"Ah! so us have--so us have," came the response.
"And you carn't get rid of him," continued the speaker.
"Not of oursel's," ejaculated a fervent voice at the end of the room, "but the Lord will help us." The old preacher turned on him almost fiercely:-- "But th' Lord woan't," he shouted; "doan't 'ee reckon on that, lad.

Ye've got him an' ye've got ta keep him.

Ye carn't get rid of him.

Th' Lord doan't mean 'ee to." Here there broke forth murmurs of angry disapproval, but the old fellow went on, unheeding:-- "It arn't good for 'ee to get rid of him.

Ye've just got to hug him tight.